


like every other morning

by mm_nani



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, NT feels, Reunion Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 19:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11904510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm_nani/pseuds/mm_nani
Summary: David Villa receives a call he hasn't in a while. It dredges up feelings he's spent three years burying





	like every other morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myblueworld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myblueworld/gifts).



> Dearest Utami, your fics bring me so much joy and I've been meaning to write a fic for you for so long but I've just never been inspired to write any of your OTPs (even though I love them!!!!). So this morning when inspiration hit for these two I went with it. What can I say I can't help the joy of OTPs rising from the dead. I'm sorry it's so short and I don't know David Villa at all so I hope he isn't too out of character

The morning starts like any other in the Bronx. The apartment is new because he doesn’t like travelling far for game days. It’s in a relatively quiet neighborhood but there’s still someone yelling downstairs at 8am. Usually, it’s the old man from the deli across the street, who always puts extra sauce in his wraps because he loves football and the Spanish NT. It’s almost endearing now, waking up to his agitated yelling at his sons bringing in the day’s supplies.

 

The yelling starts within minutes of him waking up but it’s not what disturbed his sleep. David looks around blearily for the actual cause. His phone is buzzing on the bedside table, he reaches out to grab it but it stops ringing when it’s in his hand. David is starting to comprehend that it’s a missed call when the phone starts ringing again. He catches the name flash on the screen, but his mind is still half in slumber so the voice on the other line surprises him. His heart catches around a lump in his throat.

 

‘Hello David.’ It’s a sound that he dreams about often.

 

‘David.’ He acknowledges back and Silva laughs at their little joke. The joke should be spoiled rotten, they’ve used it so much but it never fails to make Silva chuckle. He’s still laughing though and David realizes that there’s a shift from when Silva started laughing at the joke to now when he’s laughing because he can’t stop, because he’s so happy. 

 

His heart squeezes inside his chest thinking about the crinkles around Silva’s eyes, thinking about being able to touch them with his own two fingers again.

 

‘You know, right? You saw. You must have seen before me.’ Silva says and there’s a hint of accusation in his voice. David knows that Silva called him as soon as he heard. But he’s been sitting on the news since last night. 

 

If he knew it would be so easy he would have called. But he didn’t. Between the two of them, it was always Silva who possessed the ability to uncomplicate things. Silva’s naivete in believing in the best and the most hopeful is something that frustrates him. Silva’s ability to dream through all of David’s pessimism is what drew David to him in the first place.

 

‘I didn’t know how to call you.’

 

‘You don’t know how to use a phone, old man?’ Silva laughs again and this time David laughs with him because it probably really is that simple.

 

‘I can’t wait to see you.’ Silva says and the sheer amount of yearning in those words should be ridiculous, they just saw each other in the summer.

 

But David feels the sharp pang of nostalgia too, the implied ‘in la roja’ hanging heavy between them. 

 

‘You look so good in red.’ Silva continues and David realizes that Silva is filling in his silence, Silva is always filling the space between them with dreams even when David is afraid.

 

‘So do you.’ He finally says, there’s more he wants to say, but there’s no words to describe the feeling caught in his throat, of the excitement of playing next to Silva bubbling in his stomach.

 

‘Welcome back old man.’ Silva chuckles.

 

‘Yeah.’ He responds accepting his inability to articulate, trusts Silva to understand.

 

It’s been three years.

 

But Silva still called.


End file.
